Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
by amitai
Summary: SLASH. Set after Point Blanc. Starting any relationship is always awkward, and for Alex, who has to hide so much of himself from people, it's doubly difficult. It's easy to see why someone who knows about him is so attractive... ON TEMPORARY HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

Right! Yet another story. I swear, I am AWESOME.

Jokes.

OK. So, this is slash. There isn't much of it in this section, so I figured there was room for some more. :D

However, just so people know, for those who couldn't read it the first time, THIS. IS. SLASH. And for those of you who don't know what slash is, that's two guys having a relationship. Please, normally I'd try and be flippant and witty about this - _try_ - but I'm too tired to try right now. If you don't like slash, please don't read it. And, for the Lord's sake, don't flame me for it, because I'm not going to put up with it. There are better places for people to act like petulant children, I don't want them hanging around me, has everybody got that?

Thanks.

DISCLAIMER: Oh, wouldn't it be nice if everyone was nice, and I owned Alex Rider?

* * *

As he boarded the plan, Alex reflected that this was probably a really bad idea. MI6 had deliberately tried to keep him away from the other boys he'd rescued from Dr. Grief, but even MI6, it seemed, couldn't compete with Dieter Sprintz's million-pound "intelligence services"; and Alex was willing to bet that, after the close call he'd just had, Sprintz was willing to give his son anything, and if that anything included a visit from his "little friend", James Sprintz was going to have it.

Alex knew all that, but that hadn't stopped him boarding the private jet anyway.

When they touched down in Austria, Alex was met by James – still pale, dark hair still flopping into dark eyes – and several body guards, who ushered them quickly and efficiently into the waiting car. It was only when they were in the car that James got a proper chance to speak to Alex.

"How are you?" he asked, casually. If he felt uncomfortable, or bothered, by the recent events and the way the pair of them met, he wasn't showing it.

"I'm fine." Alex nodded, a little awkward. "You?"

"'Fine'?" James reached out and gently touched the huge, only slightly-faded bruise which had spread over most of one side of his face, one of the many remainders of his fight with Eva Stellenbosch during the battle at the school. "How did you get that?"

"The ape-woman." Alex muttered, shrugging, and turning away to look out the window, half-hiding the bruise from the other boy.

"Mrs. Stellenbosch hit you?" James sounded impressed. "That sounds like colliding with a TGV."

"It felt like it." Alex agreed, with a small smile. "How are you? No nightmares, or anything?"

"Oh, sure, I've got nightmares." James shrugged, carelessly. "But I'll bet they're nothing on yours." He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "So – you're a spy."

Alex flushed. "Yeah. Kind of."

"'Kind of'?"

"Kind of." Alex repeated, firmly. "Not…" He broke off. There were things James didn't need to know, which Alex didn't necessarily trust him to know.

"Not what?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I'd like to know…?"

"I can't tell you." Alex said, rather regretfully. There was a rather awkward pause.

"So, are you reporting back to them about me now?" James asked, voice aiming for off-handed, but only managing faintly anxious. Alex smiled a little at that.

"No." He reassured the other boy. "I'm not; I was just… they sent me in to Point Blanc because they were worried that there was something strange going on in there…"

"Well, yeah, they were replacing their pupils with mini-Griefs." James said, voice heavily sarcastic. "I'd say that's a pretty good 'something'."

"I thought so too." He shrugged. "But now… now I'm free. Well…" he amended, quickly. "Sort of free. Halfway through the Easter holidays, so no school… and MI6 certainly didn't send me to spy on you and your dad." He smiled. "You're safe from me."

"Oh, I don't think _I_ have to worry about _you_." James said, with a quick grin, and Alex returned it, while thinking over what his new friend had said. There was an undercurrent to his words which made Alex pause; something he couldn't quite grasp.

"Right…." He said, slowly – and then they were there, and someone was opening his door for him, and another man was taking his case, and there was no time to ask James what he had meant.

* * *

He followed James through the corridors, up to his room. "My room's just next door – you can knock if you need me." The other boy said, casually dismissing the enormous house, the servants, and the casual, understated grandeur of the entire set up. "If you want a drink or something, just ring the bell." He pointed to a button, rather like a doorbell, set into the wall by the bed. "Doesn't matter what time it is; just ring, someone will come." He paused for a couple of seconds. "You'll be tired, I guess." He went on, rather reluctantly, Alex thought. "I'll leave you to have a shower, or – or whatever. Supper will be at eight; Dad said he'd try and be there, but don't expect him." He paused. "I never asked. Since you're not David Friend's son, what do your parents…" he broke off. "Sorry. I'll see you whenever, OK?" 

James was gone before Alex even had a chance to say goodbye.

He looked around the enormous room, feeling suddenly dwarfed. It was more like a room in a very upmarket hotel than a spare room in a normal house; there were some tasteful pictures on the wall, a large, luxurious double bed, with beautiful cotton sheets – in one corner, a walk in wardrobe, and over the other side of the room, another door led to a bathroom.

The room was on two levels; the bed was lower, and then, up two deep-pile carpeted steps, was a small living area – a large comfortable sofa, a coffee table, and an enormous TV, complete with DVD player and PlayStation. All of that was stood in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, opening out onto a balcony which gave a view over some stunning countryside.

Alex swallowed. He suddenly felt very small and very inferior; and, more surprising than anything else, rather worried about meeting Dieter Sprintz. What on earth would the man think of a boy like Alex, so – ordinary?

Firmly, Alex shook off those thoughts. There was no point entertaining them, and they were futile anyway; he was here for the last fortnight of his holiday, and he would make the most of it.

He pulled his suitcase – which had already been delivered to the room by the time he and James arrived – onto the bed, and began to unpack. When that was done, he wandered into the bathroom, and started to run a bath, in the large, sumptuous-seeming bathtub.

Stripping off, he took a couple of minutes, while the bath was running, to look at himself in the mirror.

The boy that looked back at him was slender, and rather pale; he had a large, barely-half-healed gash on his forehead, from where he had been thrown from the train, while trying to escape from Dr. Grief, and a bruise covering nearly half his face, from where Mrs. Stellenbosch had hit him.

The rest of him wasn't much better; bruises littered his torso, along with cuts in various stages of healing – from raw and red, to silver lines of healed skin. Muscles stood out on his arms and shoulders, but they looked strange and out-of-place on someone so young; and the dark eyes looked haunted.

Alex tore himself away from the mirror, and turned off the water. Relaxing in to the warmth of it, he ignored any worries he had, and any misgivings. Right now, he could afford not to worry about the future, to be constantly paranoid about what was going to happen next. He could step out of that mind-set for the moment.

After his bath, Alex checked the time – seven fifteen – and deliberated for a couple of seconds about what he was supposed to wear for dinner. Deciding against jeans, he went with a pair of dark trousers and a plain T-shirt, then knocked on James' door.

A muffled shout of "hang on!" floated out to him, and Alex grinned. The door was yanked open, and James appeared. "Alex!" he gave him a faintly manic grin. "Come in. Whatcha been doing?"

"Nothing much." Alex said, truthfully. "Was there anything I was supposed to do?"

"No, of course not." James waved the idea away. "Tomorrow, we'll go into Salzburg, I'll show you around the town; or we could go skiing, of course – though, maybe you snowboard?"

Alex shuddered a little at the totally innocent question, and shook his head quickly. "Not at the moment." He said, after a brief but noticeable pause.

"Alright." James nodded, calmly. "I prefer to ski, as well. We're not far from Saalbach here; the skiing is excellent. And I'm sure Dad will let us go to Vienna for a few days." Here, he frowned a little. "We'll have to take some guards with us, but I'm sure we can lose them…?"

"D'you think that's a good idea?" Alex asked, cautiously. "I mean, after everything that has just happened to you?"

"It just happened to you too, and I don't see any guards around _you_." James pointed out.

"I can't afford guards." Alex shrugged. "Plus, I'm not the son of an amazingly rich man; there'd be no point kidnapping me."

"I asked before… where are your parents?" The question wasn't intended to be harsh, but Alex flinched a little anyway. His time spent with David Friend had been detached, at best, but it had served to give a very hazy idea, at least, of what being in a family was like; and though Alex hardly wanted the money or the opulence of the Friends' house, he found himself longing, even more strongly, for his parents.

Sometimes he wondered, rather off-handedly, whether his time with MI6 had caused this rather sudden increase in his desire to have his parents around. Alex knew himself to be independent and capable and intelligent, but MI6 made him feel off-balance and vulnerable; they were always one-step ahead of him, always outmanoeuvring him and backing him into a corner, making him totally defenceless. He couldn't help but want his parents when faced with that; he couldn't help but believe that they would have been able to protect him in some way.

Shaking off that line of thought, he shrugged, awkwardly. "They're dead." He said, rather harshly he realised, when James flinched back from him. "Sorry." He added, quickly. "It's just – yeah. They died when I was one, and I went to live with my uncle. He died a few months ago."

James nodded, silently. Finally, he said, quietly. "I'm sorry, Alex."

"It's OK." Alex forced a smile.

"Well, it's not, but I'll take your word for it." James nodded. He paused. "We should… we should go down to the dining room."

When they were half way down the stairs, James turned back, and, with a quick, wry grin, said, quietly, "So, how did you start working for MI6?"

Alex frowned. "Look, James – I'm not allowed to talk about it, OK? I'm just – no. I can't. And… if you talk about it too much, you put me, and you, and your dad, and everyone else, in danger."

James frowned back. "God, Alex, lighten up a bit!"

"I can't." Alex said, in a low voice, flushing red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, but… I can't."

James sighed. "Yeah, I guess." There was another silence until they reached the hallway. They were only a few metres away from the dining room, Alex slightly in front of James, when the slightly taller boy grabbed Alex's hand. He dropped it immediately with a quick, "Sorry!", but finally muttered, "Look – I understand, OK? I do. I get that you can't talk about it. And I'm sorry for pushing you on it."

Alex offered him a smile. "Thank you."

* * *

Dieter Sprintz was a tall, slender man, very like his son to look at, but with a perpetually worried, nervous look about him which James completely lacked. As he came into the impressive dining room, Alex watched while James ineffectually covered his surprise, and Dieter gave his son a quick one-armed hug, which James returned with something like shock. Then the man was coming round the other side of the table, holding out his hand to Alex, and Alex stood, taking it. 

"You must be Alex Rider; James has told me so much about you." He, unlike James, had a German accent when he spoke English, so Alex switched languages.

"_It's nice to meet you_." he said, politely. Over the other side of the large table, James grinned at the language switch. "_Thank you for having me._"

"_It's no trouble._" Dieter sounded much more at ease speaking German than English. "_And it's a surprise to find a boy your age with such a good accent. Your mother was German_?"

Alex shook his head. "_No. My Uncle was – keen on languages_."

"Ah." Dieter went back to English, apparently in deference of his now-thoroughly-English guest. "A wise thing to be in this day and age." He took his seat at the head of the table, and smiled at his son, "James has been telling me that he would like to learn Spanish now… I am delighted. I think it might be the first time you have _wanted_ to learn anything, no?"

James shrugged. "I figure if I have to go to school, I might as well make an effort." He gave Alex an under-the-lashes sideways glance. "Maybe then I'll enjoy it; I don't like being bad at things."

Alex nodded. "Me neither." He paused. "Well – my uncle hated it when I got bad reports. He didn't always read my reports – he was busy – but he didn't like it if they were bad." He glanced at James. "I wanted to make sure he thought well of me."

"I am beginning to realise how difficult it must be for boys of your age not to have a proper parent figure around." Dieter said, giving both James and Alex a quick smile. "I am trying to be around for James…" at that, his son ducked his head, but not fast enough that Alex didn't see the rather pleased expression. "And, you, Alex – you lived with your Uncle?"

"Yes." Alex nodded, sitting back so that the – waiter? Footman? – could put a bowl of soup in front of him. "My parents died when I was young."

"I'm so sorry." Dieter said, eyes warm and sympathetic. "My parents also died when I was very young. I lived with my Aunt." He smiled. "She was a terrifying woman, but very kind. As I'm sure James will tell you."

"Great-Aunt is more terrifying than kind with me, Vater." James pointed out, rather sourly.

"Once she sees you as you are now, I'm sure you will discover how kind she is." Dieter said, with smooth confidence.

The conversation at dinner was calm and relaxed, and when they finally left – James gave his father a quick grin, and wished him goodnight, which was, judging by his reaction, as much of a novelty for Dieter as him hugging his son was for James – Alex said, casually,

"Your father seems nice."

"He is." James nodded, but his expression was uncertain, and his tone rather detached. "He's just – not often here." He paused, and looked down at his hand on the banister rail. "I do wonder how long this is going to last, though." He shrugged. "I mean, once he gets over the shock of nearly having a clone of Dr. Grief as a son, he'll stop liking me."

Alex gave the other boy a sharp look. "You're his son, though."

"Wasn't enough for him before, though, was it?"

"Is that why you're trying so hard at school? To make him keep liking you?"

James looked away, up at the nearest painting. "Pretty pathetic, huh?" he said, trying to keep his tone light, but something in his voice caught.

"So, is that why you did all that stuff – before, I mean? To get his attention? Shooting your teacher with an air rifle…?"

"No." James grinned a little, but it lacked conviction. "I wasn't aiming for the teacher; I was aiming for a window. He was behind it. And I was doing that because I hated the school." He paused. "But the other stuff – shop-lifting, drinking, driving… yeah, maybe that was the reason." He gave the other boy a quick grin. "You're better than the most expensive psychologist, you know that? In three minutes, you've got more out of me than any of them ever have."

"S'all about trust." Alex gave him a smile back.

"Yeah, I guess."

Alex wanted to ask about his mother, ask what influence she had on James' life, and whether she gave her son the parental attention the other boy so obviously craved… but refrained. Now wasn't the time. The two boys said goodnight, and parted in front of Alex's door.

* * *

The next morning, Alex left his room at nine, to go and knock on James' door – he'd been up for a couple of hours, and had waited, because he was next to certain that James would be asleep – and bumped into the other boy in the corridor. 

Both of them flushed, muttering apologies, and then James grinned at him. "I thought you'd be asleep – I waited a while before coming to get you…"

Alex grinned back. "I did the same thing."

They headed down to breakfast – they went to the kitchen this time, and Alex was totally certain that he would never find his way around this enormous house – with no more conversation that standard 'did you sleep well' questions. Once they were in the kitchen, though, James grabbed a croissant and hot chocolate for Alex, who had been dithering and who smiled rather awkwardly in thanks, plunked himself down at the table, and said, casually,

"We've got two options for today."

"Oh?"

"Well, we could go skiing – I've got a suit you can borrow, if you need – or we could go in to Salzburg." He gave Alex a questioning look over the rim of his mug. "Any preference?"

Alex paused for a couple of seconds. Skiing sounded good, and it sounded fun – but he wasn't completely certain that he wasn't going to have a flashback, like he had after the incident with the Stormbreakers during a PE lesson at school. They'd been swimming, and had been told to tread water; Alex had freaked. No one had noticed – he hadn't screamed, hadn't splashed around, hadn't drawn any attention to himself; but his heart had been going a mile a minute, and he would have sworn that he saw the Portuguese Man O' War floating in the water, waiting for him, waiting, waiting, waiting…

"Alex?" James prompted, voice a little off, slightly confused. "Are you OK?"

Alex shook himself a little, and smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"And…? Salzburg or Skiing?"

"…Skiing." Alex said, after another brief pause. "Is that OK?"

James grinned at him. "' Course it is."

* * *

The day spent skiing – they were driven up to Saalbach, and spent the day up the slopes – was amazing. James was, as he'd pretty much told Alex at Point Blanc, a fantastic skier, better than Alex, at any rate. 

"Well, for someone who's been born and raised in England, you're pretty damn good." James pointed out, when they were eating lunch. "I mean, it's not like you've got many places to ski over there. I wouldn't have any excuse not to be good at it, would I? I've been skiing since – well, practically since before I could walk."

"There's always Scotland; I could have skied there." Alex said, idly, and James threw a chip at him.

* * *

They arrived back at the Sprintz's house at about seven thirty, and hurried to change out of their rumpled clothes into something half-way presentable. James had assured Alex that jeans were fine, for which Alex was grateful, as he didn't really have any other trousers, except for that one pair; he was hoping that there was someway he could wash his things, because he didn't have enough for the full two weeks he was staying here. 

He ignored that problem for the moment though, and allowed himself to just enjoy the meal which was, again, lovely. Dieter had been waiting for them, this time, and rose to greet his son with another quick hug, giving Alex a warm smile.

"Have you enjoyed your day?" He asked, looking between the two of them, inquiringly. "You went skiing, I believe."

"Yes – to Saalbach." James said, sitting and giving Alex a glance, to reassure him that he could sit; he had been hovering awkwardly by his chair. "It was fun; I'm a better skier than Alex."

"I hope that's not the whole reason why you enjoyed it." Dieter reprimanded him, gently, and James shrugged, but Alex saw the mischievous smile he looked down at his plate to hide.

"Well, you know I've always been competitive, Vater." He said, innocently, "And I really am _much_ better than Alex…"

"I'm worried as to what you are plotting, James." The note of amusement didn't leave Dieter's voice, but his face was somewhat wary. Living with a son like James, or a son like James had been, Alex didn't know that he could blame him for that wariness Like Dieter, Alex was really hoping that the New and Improved James was here to stay, but he wasn't totally convinced that he was. "Whenever you sound innocent, you are plotting something."

James grinned. "No, I was just teasing Alex, Dad." He looked over at the other boy. "He's very good."

"I am glad to hear it." Dieter smiled again at Alex. "Another thing your uncle taught you, I assume?"

"Yes." Alex nodded, watching the others as they were given their soup, and waiting for them to start before he did. "He – liked outdoors things."

"I am sure he led a very active life." Dieter said, tone smooth and inoffensive, but Alex glanced sharply at him. Dieter met his look with a smile and sad eyes. "He certainly seems to have ensure that you will too."

Alex flushed. No one had ever commiserated with him over his duty with MI6, and, as much as he hated it, as much as he hated being manipulated and used and made helpless, he had been starting to come to terms with it, understanding that, at least for the foreseeable future, he had no way round it. And now – now, he didn't want anyone commiserating with him. It would upset the delicate internal balance he had only just struck between resentment and resignation, and if that was upset, he didn't know whether he'd ever get it back.

"Yes." He said, blandly. "We did a lot of things together on my holidays – scuba diving, trekking, abseiling… a boy's dream of a holiday."

Dieter backed down with amazing speed, obviously reading something from the boy's blank face. Alex had no doubts as to how this man managed to become so rich, and stay so rich, by simply 'playing the money markets', as James had put it the first time. Behind the polite, innocuous façade, there was an intimidatingly intelligent man. "Indeed. I'm sure James would have loved such holidays, wouldn't you?"

James looked up, and shrugged, but his face was a little wary. "You were always busy, Vater." He said, his voice as smooth and uninflected as his father's had been.

"And that is the greatest reprimand of all." Dieter said, leaning back, voice gentle and rather sad. "That I was too busy to spend time with my son." He looked at Alex, and asked, "What was the first thing James told you about me, Alex? Honestly?"

Alex glanced at James, who shrugged and nodded. "That you were a banker – that you loved money and had lots of it." He looked away from Dieter's blank face and hurt eyes. "But…He'd been at a horrible boarding school for – a month? A month and a half?" James nodded. "And, he didn't know you that well, and he was hurt, and… there was a lot of psychological trauma about being at Point Blanc." He admitted, rather reluctantly. "He was hardly at the best place to talk about you, especially since you were the person who he would blame for his being there; you did send him there, after all."

"I suppose you are right, yes." Dieter agreed, putting his spoon down. He paused, then said, delicately, "Tell me about this 'psychological trauma'." He looked at James, who was staring firmly down at his empty soup bowl. "James has been very reluctant talk to me about his time at Point Blanc, and I blame myself for sending him there…"

"'But what else could you do'." James finished for him, monotone. "I understand, Vater."

"You're there all alone – or James was." Alex said, softly, and both of them looked at him. "All alone, the only normal person in the whole building; alone and afraid and vulnerable. All these other kids, who you've been told are problem kids, have been brainwashed, or something, and they all seem like perfect little nobodies, no personalities, nothing… and it's frightening. You've got no one to turn to, and you know the intention is to turn you into one of these brainwashed nobodies, but you don't know how… And then, for James, he was thrown in a cell, intimidated and probably hurt, and he knew that they were going to kill him. You don't get much more traumatic than that, Herr Sprintz."

James' eyes were wide and vulnerable as he looked at Alex, but he swallowed, and said, rather hoarsely. "How about you, then?" Alex looked away. "Really, Alex. What happened to you?"

For a second, Alex saw the faces of Dr. Grief and Eva Stellenbosch flash in front his eyes, and felt the ringing backhand that Mrs. Stellenbosch had dealt him, heard them discussing their plans to dissect him…

He forced his eyes back up to James'. "What happened to me isn't polite dinner time conversation." He said, lightly, and James frowned, but let it go.

* * *

He brought it up later, though. They had been watching one of the Star Wars movies – Alex hadn't been paying much attention, but he had recognised Harrison Ford, and reckoned that it was probably the "real" first one; apparently, James could pretty much quote the entire thing from beginning to end – when James first stated speaking. 

"What did happen to you at Point Blanc, Alex?"

Alex glanced over at the other boy. His eyes were trained on the TV screen, watching as Alec Guiness – "Obi-Wan Kenobi" – taught the kid, Luke Whoever, to "use the Force", but there was a tenseness to James' jaw which told Alex that he understood how difficult this question was for him. That, more than anything else, allowed Alex to answer, voice quiet and strained.

"I – look, James, it's…tough. I don't…I can't…"

"Alex." James put his hand Alex's forearm, making Alex look at him, a little startled. He wasn't used to casual touching. "I know it's difficult… but, have you talked to _someone_ about it? I mean, you don't have to talk to me about it, but… it's not a good idea to keep it all inside you." he smiled a little. "Hell, my Dad cancelled a whole day of board meetings and shit so he could talk to me about it, and I didn't go through half the stuff you did."

For a second – just a second – Alex hesitated. Then he met James' eyes, brown and warm and understanding, and _kind_ like he didn't get normally from the people in his life, and he said, slowly, "There's no one I _can_ talk to."

James frowned. "Your uncle…"

"Died earlier this year." Alex reminded him, voice gone soft and rather tired. "He was a good guy, but… he did kind of train me to be a spy, from the age of about six, you know? It's – difficult to trust him." He gave a little chuckle, which sounded broken even to his own ears. "Even to trust his memory."

"What about the people you live with now?" James asked, concernedly. "Shit, Alex, you're not in foster care, are you?"

Alex forced a smile. "No. I live with Jack – she's not exactly my guardian, but… she's nice. Really nice."

"And you can't talk to her about this?"

"It – it kind of scares her, you know?" he said, slowly. "I can't do that to her. I can't force her to listen to stuff when it scares her, can I?"

"You can if it scares you too, Alex." James told him, firmly. "It's not fair that you should have to deal with all this on your own." He clenched his jaw, frowning, and obviously thinking hard. "Look, Alex, if you want to talk about it – and, like I said, I really think you should… I'd be glad to talk it over with you. I mean," he grinned, a little cautiously. "I was at Point Blanc too, right? I didn't go through what you did, but… maybe that'd help?"

Alex looked at him for a couple of slow, silent moments. Then he nodded, slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good." He smiled, genuinely this time. "Thanks, James."

"It's nothing." James replied, sincerely, and they turned back to the movie, both sensing that any further attempts at a "deep" conversation now would be straying in to overkill.

In the film, C3P0 announced, gloomily, "We're doomed."

Alex and James looked at each other, and grinned.

* * *

They didn't bring it up for the next few days – in fact, they were in Vienna, staying at the Grand Hotel Wien, when the subject came up again. 

Alex enjoyed being in Vienna – even with the armed guards James had prophesised. He enjoyed the theatre, when they went; they saw a translated production of "Hamlet" at the Burgtheater, and Alex, who had thought that he didn't like Shakespeare at all, even in English, found himself enjoying it. The hotel, however, had, for at least the first couple of days, scared the hell out of him.

Dieter had reserved a Deluxe Suite for the pair of them to share, and Alex was totally intimidated by the sheer – luxury of it all. Growing up with Ian Rider had meant that he had never had to worry about money, but, equally, he had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined doing something like this.

James, however, seemed perfectly comfortable with it, and Alex didn't mention it again.

The pair of them were watching a DVD in the sitting room which came with the suite; but, once it finished, neither of them seemed too keen on heading back to their individual rooms.

For a few minutes, they sat in comfortable silence, Alex curled up at one end of the sofa, James sprawled – strangely, hypnotically elegant – at the other. It was Alex who finally broke the silence.

"Y'know, I've been thinking…"

"It gets easier with practice, honest." James grinned, lazily.

Alex poked him with a foot, and grinned back at him. "Serious, here, James."

James sat up, raising an eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah… it's about the – the stuff that happened at Point Blanc." Alex looked down at his hands for a couple of seconds. "If you don't want to talk, that's – that's fine, I mean, you and your dad have done so much for me already…"

James snorted at that. "Come on, Alex, you saved my life. I don't think a holiday really counts as payback."

"You make it sound like you're going to take revenge on me."

"Oh, I will, and it will be swift and silent." James nodded, mock-seriously, before going back to honest-serious. "But, back on topic. Point Blanc?"

"You'll tell me what happened to you?"

"A kind of, 'I'll show you mine, if you show me yours', thing?" James asked, and Alex couldn't work out why his friend suddenly blushed.

"Y-Yeah." He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Deal." James reached out a hand to Alex, which he promptly shook, and if James held on a little bit too long afterwards, Alex didn't notice at the time. There was another pause. "Alex?" James prompted, gently.

"Yeah… sorry." Alex looked away for a second, before looking back up at James, and beginning, rather jerkily, "They bought my cover story for most of my stay there. It was just… at the end."

"So, tell me what they did to you at the end." James said, softly.

"They…" Alex shrugged. "Most of it wasn't that bad, y'know? It was just… stuff."

"Jesus, Alex, you're talking like Grief raped you, or something." James said, starting to look seriously worried.

Alex couldn't help it – he had to laugh at that one. "No, no, no!" he corrected him, quickly. He shuddered. "Nothing like that."

"So… what did happen?" he pushed, cautiously.

"I…" He shrugged. "They tied me to a chair, and told me what was going on – Mrs. Stellenbosch got in a few hits, but nothing big."

"Alex, did you see the size of that woman? Having her hit you must have been like having a ton of bricks land on you."

Alex shrugged again. "I guess." He bit his lip, considering how he was going to go on. "Look, Dr. Grief was twisted, right? And his clones were just like him." He stopped again, and James was silent, letting him gather his thoughts. "They wanted to see a live human dissection." Alex said, eventually, very quietly.

"Wha…" James trailed off, eyes wide. "Oh my god. You?" Alex just nodded. "_Shit_, Alex!" He slid closer to the other boy on the sofa. "They were going to cut you up?!"

"They were going to see how long it took for my heart to stop beating once they'd cut me open." Alex told him, voice small and emotionless.

James put a tentative hand on his calf, warm and comforting, even through the denim of his jeans. "God, Alex, I'm sorry." He whispered.

"S'not your fault." He attempted a smile, but he had a feeling it had gone a little wrong.

"No, but… you did that saving me. Me and the others." His hand on Alex's calf squeezed just a little, and Alex smiled again, better this time.

"It's OK." He shrugged. "I mean, it's not like they managed it."

James nodded. "Just – how _did_ you get away?"

Alex flushed, and bit his lip. "I snowboarded down the mountain." He said, before muttering, quickly, "On an ironing board."

The other boy stared at him. "I'm sorry, come again?"

"I snowboarded down the mountain on an ironing board." He repeated more clearly. "With – Grief's guards on snowmobiles chasing after me…"

"An _ironing board_?" James said, incredulously. For a second, he struggled with his laughter – then he said, fighting the grin, "Well… inventive, sure; quick thinking under pressure, yeah – cool? Not so much." He paused. "Well, the bit with men on snowmobiles chasing after you would have been cool – very James Bond – if it hadn't been for the whole, y'know, actually-trying-to-kill you thing."

Alex grinned; it felt strangely relieving to laugh about this. He had no doubt that James appreciated how difficult it had been, how hard he had found it – that wasn't the point. The other boy made him feel better about it, about his whole life in general, and that was something Alex had been missing for a long, long time.

He skated over the rest of his time there, sketching out his all-too-one-sided fight with Mrs. Stellenbosch – "I swear that woman had rhinoceros blood in her somewhere…" James commented, idly – and his run in with the train, and the SAS. James had nodded, and smiled sympathetically, and listened to him talking about it, letting him deal with it all, unlike anyone else had ever bothered to do.

Before they finally parted – at nearly one in the morning, though neither of them could really believe it – the dark-haired boy said, very seriously,

"Are you gonna be OK?"

Alex nodded and smiled. "Yeah." He said, quietly. "I'm gonna be fine. And – thank you."

James hugged him then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, grinned back at him and raised one hand like he was going to touch Alex's face, before letting it drop again, and wishing him a quick 'good night'.

That night, Alex dreamed of James, and, in the morning, couldn't quite meet the other boy's eyes.

* * *

When they got back from Vienna, Alex only had a few days left in Austria, and he and James acquired a sort of pattern; they would ski, or go into Salzburg for most of the day, then come back, eat dinner with Dieter Sprintz, then watch a movie in one of their rooms. 

It was a day or so before Alex left when it happened.

The film they'd been watching – Bridge over the River Kwai, an old favourite of James, who seemed to have a weakness for Alec Guinness – had finished about half an hour ago, and they were sat, talking and joking with each other. It was more teenage than anything Alex had ever done, normal and reassuring.

Finally, and reluctantly, he stood, and said, with a rueful grin. "It's nearly midnight – I really need to go."

James stood up with him, and smiled back. "Yeah, of course." He took a step closer. "I'm going to hate it when you go, you know." He said, eyes warm and lazy on Alex's face. "I'll miss you."

And then – Alex was never entirely sure how – James was there, lips on his, one hand cupping his cheek, and the other arm snaking round him to put a hand on his back. He gasped a little, and James took full advantage of that, lips soft and gentle and ever-so-slightly-demanding on Alex's. His teeth bit gently on Alex's lower lip, and Alex tilted his head a little so that it was comfortable, but, beyond that, had no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

It was nice, he realised – very nice. When James pulled back, a little breathless, Alex stared at him, and wished that he could have that sensation back.

But James was staring at him, and, when he spoke, his words were like a slap in the face. "God, Alex." He said, and Alex had too much experience not to recognise that catch in his voice as being disappointment and worry. "I'm sorry."

For a couple of seconds, it didn't sink in, it didn't click that this had been nothing more than an unfortunate mistake for James. Then Alex got it, and fled with a mumbled, "good night".

* * *

The next started off awkward, as James met Alex at his door, as usual, and they then headed downstairs, in a thick, uncomfortable silence which almost physically hurt. 

Alex finally broke it. "You know… I'm really sorry. About yesterday."

James stared at him, taken aback. "Why?" He asked, "It wasn't your fault. I'm just sorry that…" he shrugged, "Well, that I – made you do that." He frowned. "I mean, not that I could make you do something you didn't want to, just that I…" he broke off again. "That you didn't want that."

It was Alex's turn to stare. "What made you think that?"

"Think what?"

"That I didn't want it?"

James frowned, puzzled. "You didn't respond." He said, slowly. "What, do you mean you _did_…?"

Alex stiffened a little. "I didn't know that I was supposed to." He said, rather woodenly, ignoring James' half-unspoken question.

"What do you mean, you didn't know?" James asked, sounding a little exasperated. "Alex, you must have kissed people before, you can't tell me…"

"I haven't." Alex replied, hotly, shame and hurt making him defensive. "I haven't, alright? I didn't know – I'm sorry I wasn't good enough." He turned on his heel and ran back to his room, where he locked himself in. Anger didn't make him feel better – it made him feel worse. He felt ungrateful, small and rather petty; but he couldn't bring himself to face James right now.

* * *

James was left staring after him, with the horrible feeling that he'd just really, seriously fucked up. 

In his defence, he thought, rather mulishly, it wasn't unreasonable to assume that Alex would have done something like this before. He was, after all, a spy for MI6, it wasn't weird or presumptuous for him to presume that Alex would have some experience this way too.

But then… Alex was a fourteen year old, he wasn't James Bond, and – from what he'd said – he didn't have much time for school let alone a relationship, however casual, with anyone.

James recognised the beginning squirms of guilt in the pit of his stomach, and he didn't like it. He _liked_ Alex – as a friend, or whatever Alex wanted – and he'd just really, really screwed up.

With a sigh, he went to look for his friend.

* * *

Knocking on the door to Alex's room, he called, awkwardly, "Alex? Alex, you in there?" There was no reply, but when he tried the door, he found it was locked. "Come on, Alex, I know you're in there…" 

There were a couple of muffled sounds from behind the door, and then Alex unlocked it, appearing in the doorway, looking at James with tired eyes. "What do you want?" he asked, quietly, and James swallowed, taking a step back.

"I wanted to say…" the words almost stuck in his throat; he had always hated apologising, a side-effect of being hideously over-indulged as a kid, no doubt, but he'd say them to Alex. He was the one who'd screwed up, after all. "I wanted to say that – I'm sorry."

Alex looked a little taken aback. "Oh. Um… right."

They stood there in silence for a few seconds, before James said, finally and a little impatiently, "Well? Do you forgive me?"

Alex looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't really work like that, James… 'sorry' doesn't make everything better."

"I know that." James nodded, "But – I didn't mean… what I mean is… How was I supposed to know that you'd never…?"

"Is that why you invited me?" Alex asked, bluntly. "For – that?"

"No!" James cried, horrified that his friend could even think that. "No, of course not! I invited you because… because I got on with you, and you were interesting, and clever, and – bloody hell, Alex, you saved my life!"

"Then why…?" Alex let the question go without properly asking it. They both knew what he was talking about.

"Because you're – you." James shrugged, rather helplessly. "I don't know _why_, Alex, I can't give you a definitive answer. You were here, and you're… god, you're gorgeous, and kind, and funny, and a whole load of things, and – I mean, I don't even know if you swing that way, but…" he shrugged, and quirked a tentative grin at his friend. "You can't blame a guy for trying, right?"

Alex paused, and for one, horrible second, James thought he was going to shut the door in his face. Then Alex smiled back, very, very slowly, and James heaved a sigh of relief. They were alright again.

* * *

Things weren't quite the same after that, of course, though they weren't uncomfortable – simply different. James made sure to work a lot of casual – and not so casual – touch into their relationship, to let Alex know that he was still interested, but Alex didn't seem to want to take it any further, though he didn't dissuade James' casual arm-round-shoulder, and all the hugs the other boy gave him. It was more as though he didn't know quite what to do with them, or how to respond. 

They were both painfully aware that Alex was leaving soon, and that neither of them were that sure when they were going to see the other again; and James, for one, was determined to make the most of his time, spending almost every minute of the day with his friend.

Finally, though, they were both sat in the car, heading back to the air-field where Dieter kept his plane, in almost total silence. Alex had said his 'thank-you's' several times while they were back at the house, and there genuinely didn't seem to be anything else worth saying, or nothing that either of them dared to say.

They were almost at the airfield by the time Alex spoke.

"I did – I really liked it, you know." He said, slowly, and James looked at him, curiously.

"Liked what?"

"The kiss." Alex was looking out the window, deliberately not letting himself make eye contact with his friend. "I just didn't know… what to do."

James grinned. "Well, I'd love to show you what to do, if you wanted." He offered, voice surprisingly gentle, and Alex looked at him, finally, with an answering grin, smaller and more wary than James' own, but present, nonetheless.

"I think I'd like that, yeah." He agreed, very slowly, and James reached out, grabbing one of Alex's hands, and holding it, awkward and rather clumsy, but affectionate despite that.

"Thanks, Alex. And – sorry, again, for being such a prat. I guess… well. Yeah. Sorry."

"S'Alright." Alex shook his head. "But make sure you don't do it again, OK?"

James nodded, earnestly, a faint hint of mischief in his eyes. "I'll do my best." He promised solemnly. The half-smile slid off his face as he said, rather nervously. "Um – Alex? Don't go practicing kissing with anyone else, alright?"

Alex gave an inelegant snort. "Oh, yeah, because there are so many takers." He squeezed James' hand once, before pulling his own back. "Don't worry, I'm not going to 'practice on anyone else'."

James nodded, and felt his stomach drop, as the car stopped. Alex was leaving.

Impulsively, as Alex reached for the door handle, James reached out, capturing his hand once again, turning Alex towards him. Very slowly, he leant forwards, giving Alex time to move back, warning him what was about to happen, letting his free hand slide up to Alex's face, cupping his cheek, and tilting his head slightly. Then he brushed his own lips against Alex.

This kiss was far better than the first one – Alex made an effort at responding, less shocked, and less nervous than before, and though he was by no means an expert, James was pretty certain that it was the best kiss he'd ever had, from girl or boy.

Drawing back, he grinned down at the shorter boy, saying, voice a little strained, "Nice. Very nice."

Alex grinned up at him, eyes bright. "Do I get a mark out of ten?"

"Shut up."

They were interrupted by someone knocking politely on the door. "Herr James? The plane has to leave now, your friend must go…"

"Shit…" Alex swore, scrambling for the door. James followed him at a much more leisurely pace, reluctant to see him go, and still unsure of when he was going to see him again.

"I'll write, OK?" he said, when they were standing awkwardly by the car, "Or email you. Keep in touch, yeah? And I'll see you soon. Maybe summer holiday, or half-term?"

Alex nodded, apparently wordless. After nearly a minute of silence, he gave James a quick hug, muttered a graceless goodbye, and was gone.

* * *

And this is the first chapter. Depending on what people want, this can either be just three chapters long, OR I'm happy to make it into a longer fic. But, it's going to be slash all the way through, folks, and for heaven's sake, if you don't like slash, don't damn well read it, because I'm not going to put up with being flamed because someone couldn't read well enough to see the warnings, has everyone got that? Thank you. 

And for all of you who DON'T mind slash, I hope you liked! Tell me which you'd prefer, long, or short, please?

LOL!

-ami xxx


	2. Chapter 2

Here is the second chapter... unbeta'd, as always - does it show that I never get anything beta read, except that the lovely and patient Von selflessly reads through my stories to make me feel better about posting them:D - and only up this fast because I go back to school tomorrow. (pouts) I don' wanna go baaaaack!!!

...ahem.

So... here it is. The second chapter. This is going to a **_LONG_** fic, people - the long votes FAR outweighed the short ones. I'm pleased and flattered that you all have so much faith in me!

This chapter is dedicated to various people - **Von**, as always, because she's so patient with me, and such a good friend... **xaritomene**, my 'real life friend', who is ALMOST as patient with me, but doesn't listen to me ramble on like poor ole Von has to :P, and also to **Slate Grey **and **LostInColour**, who have both written several lovely, coherent reviews over quite a long period of time; **Slate Grey **also has the excellent taste to be a Doctor Who fan on top of that. :P

That isn't to say I don't appreciate all of your reviews! Put it this way, the chapter might as well be dedicated to all of you, because if it weren't for your kind encouragement, the chapter would never have been written. I rest my case.

I hope you enjoy this one too!

DISCLAIMER: I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts - but, sadly, not Alex Rider. (pout: The Sequel)

* * *

Alex had been back in London for maybe a week, the first time James rang. The week had been boring, but busy; he'd spent it in a frantic whirl of homework, school, sports practice, and an occasional "excursion" – as Ian had called them, for some reason best known only to himself – with some of the friends who didn't now think that he was some kind of mad, drug-crazed fiend. Jack had been talking non-stop about Wimbledon, which was about to start – she'd managed to develop a crush on one of the newer players, which had kick started her interest, though she'd always loved the "adorably British" competition; but that was about the most interesting thing which had been happening.

Alex had spent a fair amount of his free time – not that there was much of it – thinking about James, about the kiss he'd given him, and had been debating whether or not he should ring.

"Alex!" Jack called up the stairs, "Phone for you!"

Alex pushed his Biology homework away from him with some relief, and headed across the landing to Ian's room, which still stood empty, and where, for some reason, they still kept a phone. As he passed the stairwell, he called back down to Jack "Thanks – I'll pick it up up here, OK?" She nodded, and he grabbed the phone. "Hello?"

"Alex." James said, voice warm. "Was the lady who answered the phone your guardian?"

"Hey." Alex grinned on his end of the phone, though he knew James couldn't see it. "Yeah, that was Jack. She's nice – you'd like her." There was a second or so of silence, before James said, casually,

"So – good flight back? How are you?"

"Um…" Alex shrugged. "The flight was fine. It's kind of weird, being on a plane all by yourself, though…" he paused. "And I'm good. You?"

"Yeah, fine. School's boring." Alex could hear his smile in his voice when he spoke next. "Dad's organised loads of tutors for me – I'm not sure whether they're to help me catch up with all the stuff I missed when I couldn't be bothered to pay attention, or because he thinks I'm thick, but either way… it's really easy when you try, isn't it?"

Alex laughed a little. "If you're clever."

"Well, I'm perfect, so obviously, _I_ have no trouble whatsoever." James retorted, mock-arrogantly.

"Yeah." Alex agreed, seriously. "Me, I used to conceited, but now I'm _perfect_."

James laughed, warm and reassuring, and Alex felt a little of the tension from the last, remarkably stressful week melt away. "Dad got your thank you letter, by the way, and he told me to say that it's always a pleasure to see good manners in young people these days." He paused. "Well, not really. He did say that, but he actually told me to tell you 'thank you' for it, and what's the point in that? You'll say thank you to him for saying thank you to you for saying thank you to…"

"James, shut up." Alex said, chuckling. "This could go on forever."

"Exactly!" he returned, triumphantly.

The phone call lasted just over an hour, both of them being reluctant to put the phone down, and was the first of many. Jack half-heartedly complained that Alex spent more time talking to James than to her, but there was a warmth in her eyes as she said it, and she had commented before on how good it was for Alex to have a close friend who understood him.

Alex didn't tell her about the way James and he had kissed, reasoning that it was hardly anything to do with her; and in all of their many conversations, they brought up their 'deeper relationship' very rarely. Alex had mentioned that once, and James had replied that there was nothing to say about it that wouldn't be better said face to face, and had casually issued an invitation for Alex to come and visit him that summer. Alex had turned that round, saying that James should come and visit him, and adding, sweetly, that he could even bring his guards if he wanted to.

James hung up on him at that point. He rang back five minutes later, with a ready, if not entirely serious, apology, but it was decided. Alex was to spend ten days in Austria with James, then James was coming back to London with Alex for another ten days.

Crawley's proposal over Wimbledon derailed Alex slightly. He agreed to do what the man had asked, act as a ball boy – much to Jack's delight – and keep an eye out for anything strange in a rare moment of goodwill, and found himself stuck with it. But the thing which threw him the most was Sabina Pleasure.

"Alex!" she greeted him, cheerfully, the third day into his new 'job'. "Good day?"

He shrugged, returning her smile, and trying not to feel a little off-balance by her apparent enthusiasm for him. "Alright. You?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Court 7, not bad… Haven't got a clue who's playing who, but I'll find out when I get there, right?" he nodded, and she went on, "I hope it's someone interesting – I'd like to watch Maria Sharipova play, but there's no chance I will…" she paused. "D'you know, I've never been assigned a men's match? It's weird, isn't it? Have you ever been assigned a women's match?"

Alex frowned, thinking back over the few matches he'd worked so far. "I can't remember…" he said, slowly. "Probably. Possibly…?"

She grinned. "Idiot." She told him, casually, and he grinned. There was something relaxing about Sabina. She wasn't as interesting as James, or as attractive – not to him, though he tried not to think about it too much – but she relaxed him, didn't mind if he was a bit secretive, and didn't expect much from him. He didn't really understand why she'd decided to latch onto him; but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy her company.

"She's nice, James…" Alex told his friend – boyfriend? – in one of their long conversations. "Really, I think you'd like her."

"No, I think you'd like me to like her, and it doesn't always work like that." James pointed out, a little pettishly. "Sounds to me like she fancies you."

"If you're going to be stupid…"

"I'm not being stupid!" James protested. "She obviously fancies you, and you're probably encouraging her without even noticing it, and I'm in bloody Austria, so there's bugger all I can do about it!"

If James had been there, Alex would have raised an eyebrow at him, despairingly. "Look, James. You don't _need_ to do anything, cos there's nothing to do something about." That sounded confusing, even to him. "Maybe – _maybe_ – Sabina fancies me, OK? Maybe." James snorted. "Well, I can't say that she does for definite without sounding really arrogant, can I?" Alex pointed out, fairly.

"S'not arrogance if it's true, Al." James said, flippantly.

"Well, I don't know whether it _is _true, so it doesn't matter either way, does it?" James snorted again, and this time Alex ignored him. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to pull her the first chance I get, OK? She's nice, and she's pretty, but…" he made a sound that was as near as he could get to a verbal shrug. "She's not…" he searched for a word. "She's, um… not…"

"A boy?" James asked, dryly.

Alex frowned. "I don't think that makes any difference, to be honest." He said, slowly. "I don't think it matters to me either way." He shrugged, even thought James couldn't see it. "Not that I know for sure. I mean, I'm fourteen, I don't have to have made a decision yet, right?"

"How very modern of you." James returned, obviously determined to be at his most infuriating. Alex sighed, annoyed.

"For heaven's sake, she's not _you_!" he said, in a rush, and then stifled his reaction to his own words. He would have sworn that that wasn't what he meant to say.

There was a long, long pause. "Alex…" James said, finally, voice had gone very soft, and rather contrite.

"I have homework." Alex said, stiffly. "I have to go."

"Alex, please…"

"Bye, James." He said, quickly, and hung up. When the phone rang again, he didn't answer it.

* * *

Regardless of what he considered to be James' completely groundless fears over his faithfulness to their not-quite-relationship, Alex continued to stick with Sabina; and when, towards the end of the competition (and the end of the term), everything turned upside down on his surveillance 'mission' at Wimbledon, with the fake security guard, and the drugged water, he was grateful when she offered him a chance to get away from it all. 

James didn't see it quite like that.

They hadn't mentioned Alex's outburst much since it happened, though James had brought it up a couple of times with a surprising amount of tenderness for a nearly-fifteen-year-old boy. The phone calls had gone on as usual – no fixed time, no fixed length, no fixed day, just regular calls to keep in contact. Alex worried that they'd start to get bored of each other, on the basis of 'familiarity breeds contempt', and James told him he was being paranoid

When he told him about what had happened at Wimbledon, James had apparently been torn between resignation and amusement. "Trust you." he grinned. "'Could make a storm in a teacup' was a phrase they invented for you, wasn't it?"

"Shut up." Alex told him, without heat. "I didn't mean to, but, God, he was trying to kill me, what the hell else could I do?"

"Fair point…" James acknowledged. "But – could you not have just called in some back up from your MI6 buddies? Wouldn't that have been simpler?"

Alex sighed. "Yeah, if I thought they'd actually, you know, turn up."

"Oh, yeah." James nodded. "So – what happens now?"

Alex paused. "I, er- I'm going to go and stay with Sabina for a bit. Her parents have rented a house in Cornwall – great surfing…"

For a couple of seconds, James was silent, then he said, slowly. "Cornwall's nice, isn't it? I've, um… I've never been there."

"Yeah." Alex nodded. "It's nice. My uncle and I used to go rock-climbing there – and scuba-diving, and stuff like that. It's fun; I'd invite you if it weren't for the fact that it's not my holiday to invite people on…"

When James replied, Alex could hear the fondness in his voice. "Then I guess I can quell all my jealous urges. Plus, I get nearly a month of you all to myself, I suppose this Sabina girl can have you for a couple of days."

"That's big of you, thanks." Alex retorted, sarcastically, but he was grinning. It was a relief that James wasn't trying to be difficult over this, even if it was something of a surprise. He made a quick mental note not to underestimate James again.

* * *

When he got back from the affair at Skeleton Key, totally wiped and wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed, and sleep – or hide, depending on which way you looked at it – for at least a fortnight, it was to find an anxious Jack and several letters waiting for him. He endured the hug from Jack, ate the dinner she'd made without tasting any of it, and accepted her advice that a warm bubble bath would make him feel much better. Then he stumbled upstairs to his room, and collapsed onto the bed, letters still clutched in one hand. 

He lay there for maybe ten minutes, staring at the ceiling, unwilling to close his eyes for fear of what he might see. Lazily, movements sluggish with near exhaustion, he brought the letters up to examine them, vaguely recognising the hand-writing as James'.

For a few moments, he just stared at them – then he put them down on the bed, and headed, rather clumsily, over to the bathroom; a warm bath _was_ sounding good right now, and maybe James' letters would help him relax.

'_Dear Alex_,' the first letter read,

'_I rang you a couple of days ago – well, fifteen minutes ago for me, but at least a couple of days ago for when you get this, maybe even a week or so – because you said you'd probably be back from Cornwall by now, and the lady you live with – Jack, right? – said that you'd been sent to America by MI6. I hope to god you're OK right now. You are, right?_'

Alex managed to dredge up a weak smile at that.

'_It's probably something dangerous and horrible, and I want to know all about it. I mean, not only because these things read like a damn adventure story for boys, but also cos – well, it's good to talk, isn't it? Closure, or whatever. Whenever you feel like talking, I'll listen, just like last time._

'_I bet I'm much better at it than that Sabina._

'_…Just joking. Really.'_

The rest of the letter outlined what he been doing recently, chatting about normal things which helped relax Alex far more than anything else.

_'God, I'm worried about you, Alex._' The second letter started, much less formally. '_I know I shouldn't be – or, I should be, but I shouldn't be telling you that I am, because of 'undue strain', or whatever, but I am. I keep ringing, on the off-chance that you'll be back, but you're not, and I haven't got a clue what's happening to you._

_'I should have expected this, I know – I mean, I kind of knew what you do, but… it's a bit more real now.'_ Alex could almost sense his friend's shrug in the words, _'I can't complain, though. I'm not the one who has to live through it. I really hope you're OK, though. You are, right?_'

The third letter was much more formal than the second – it had obviously been drafted several times – but Alex could read, in the things James had carefully not said, the worry and concern, and it was amazingly comforting. James' repeated efforts to be there for him, even when he couldn't physically be there were touching and reassuring, so when Alex got out the bath, the first thing he did was call James.

"Alex!" he exclaimed. "Wow! Are you OK? Where were you?"

He managed a smile. "Can I tell you that later? I mean – I'm coming to Austria in a couple of days, aren't I?"

"This Thursday, yeah." James agreed, though the thread of worry hadn't left his voice. "And – yeah, I guess it'd be easier to wait. Face-to-face is always more fun, right?"

Alex actually chuckled at that. "Depends how close your faces are, I guess." He returned, through a yawn, and James faked a shocked gasp.

"Why, Alex, I never thought I'd hear you say something suggestive!" he said, mock-outraged – then his voice softened, as he said, cautiously, "_Are_ you OK, though?"

Alex paused, thinking about it. "Um – I guess." He shrugged. "Bit bruised up, but I'm OK."

"Seems like you've got new bruises every time I see you." James said, rather sadly, before forcibly injecting some humour into his voice as he said, "Is it some kind of twisted fashion statement for you Brits? Should I get some bruises of my very own before I come, is that what I need to do to be cool?"

Alex lay back on his pillows with a sigh. James' chatter and gentle mockery should have been exhausting, but it was strangely reassuring. This, he could deal with. James seemed to realise that, and kept talking, even though he wasn't getting much back from the other boy. By the time he rang off, Alex was feeling far better than he would have thought possible when he got back that morning.

* * *

The next day, Alex got a phone call from Sabina, inviting him to the South of France for a fortnight. 

"…The weather's supposed to be wonderful, and the house we've rented is huge, so it'd be great if you could come…?" she finished, after a long spiel of what amounted to little more than an advertisement for the place.

Alex felt a sudden rush of affection for her. It was nice of her to have thought of him, even if she did have the 'dark ulterior motives' that Tom had accused her of, and Alex half-believed she did. So it was with some regret that he said, slowly, "I'm really sorry, Sab, but, er… I'm going to Austria. You remember I mentioned my friend, James? He's invited me, he asked me over a while back… I'm really sorry, I'd have loved to come, but – I really can't."

"Oh." She couldn't quite keep the disappointment from her voice. "Oh, well – it doesn't matter. I hope you'll have a great time in Austria." Despite the disappointment obvious in her tone, she sounded sincere. "Next time, I'll just have to get in quicker!"

She began pestering about him with questions about James – "Is he tall, dark and handsome? Can you introduce me?" – and they moved on.

* * *

When he got off the plane, James was waiting for him, just like last time, and Alex grinned, relieved to see him. 

"Alex." James practically beamed back. "You OK?"

He nodded, slowly. "Yeah…"

James frowned at him. "You sure? You don't look fine…"

Alex mustered up a half-hearted glare. "Oh, thanks." He retorted. "You sure know how to flatter a guy."

"I don't need to flatter you, you're a sure thing." James shrugged, with a grin so Alex knew that he was joking. "C'mon. Car. Now."

"Pushy little bastard, aren't you?" Alex ribbed, good-naturedly, as he climbed into the comfortable black car.

"You should respect your elders." James told him, with a sniff, putting on a disdainful face.

"You're older than me by, what, two months? Three?"

"Yeah, so what?" James retorted, sliding into the seat next to him. "Still puts me a school year ahead of you." he shot Alex an evil grin. "I'll be out of school for a full year before you – how's that feel?"

"Don't mind." Alex told him, deliberately off-handed. He looked at James as the car started up. "What're you going to do?" he asked, casually. "Once you leave school?"

James shrugged. "Dunno. Prob'ly take a gap year or several. See the sights. Take a couple of months out to annoy the hell out of you, while you're still in school, lounging around doing nothing and helping you with your homework…"

"As if!"

"…Might go to South America," he continued, ignoring Alex's interruption, "Practice my Spanish, build roads or something – do something 'worthwhile'." He shrugged. "I've got a while yet to decide. How about you?"

"Probably won't be able to take a gap year." Alex said, looking out the window. "I doubt I could justify it to MI6."

"You'll be eighteen then, though – they won't be able to do anything to you." James said, softly.

Privately, Alex doubted that MI6 were ever going to let him go, but he didn't voice that comment. Now wasn't the time. Later, maybe, depending on how things went, but not now. Not when he'd just got here. "Yeah." He agreed, pasting a smile on his face. "Yeah, of course. Forgot that."

James looked at him, rather suspiciously, but let it go.

"I got your letters." Alex said, after a few seconds of silence. "It was – they were nice. It was nice to get them, once I got back."

"Letters are more fun than emails, right?" James said, looking doubtful, "I've got this friend, Lucy – she said that letters were more romantic, but I think she was talking out her arse… but they're…more personal. Nicer. Right?"

Alex shrugged, and smiled. "I don't know about 'romantic'…" he trailed off, brain finally catching up with himself. "Hang on, why would this girl – Lucy, or whoever – think you want to send _me_ something romantic? And – how come I don't know about her? I told you about Sabina!"

"Lucy's just a friend…" James defended.

"So's Sabina." Alex returned, smartly.

"It never came up… plus, I haven't just met her, I've known Lucy since I was tiny, we went to nursery together…"

"So, in other words, I have more reason to be jealous of '_Lucy_' than you do of Sabina!" Alex said, annoyed.

"Alex, please." James said, calmly. "I'm not going to have a fight with you when you've just arrived."

Alex took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down. They weren't even at the house yet – it was quite a long drive from the airstrip to the Sprintz' house – and Alex was trying to pick a fight. In all honesty, he didn't know why he was being so prickly and difficult, but it couldn't be much fun for James. "Sorry." He said, after a long pause. "I – don't know why I'm being so difficult." He finished, honestly, figuring that honesty was the best policy at the moment.

"Dad warned me you might be." James returned, candidly. "I mean, it's not that he thinks you're nasty, or whatever, it's just – you've been through 'something terrible', and you had all control taken away from you, and he said you might well be trying to assert your control by being contrary and argumentative." Alex stared at him, and he flushed darkly. "S'what Dad said." He muttered, shifting rather uncomfortably.

"…That actually makes sense." Alex said, slowly, and James beamed.

"Oh, good." Then he changed the subject, his motive completely transparent, trying to get Alex's attention on to other things. "So, I don't know what we're going to do while we're here… Dad's got a business meeting in Paris, though, and he said we could come with him, if we wanted to, and stay for however long… that's at the end of the week, four or five days before we go to London… he said if we wanted, we could stay on there, then take the EuroStar to London at the end…?"

Alex grinned, leaning back and letting James' chatter wash over him again. It was good to be back with him.

* * *

The first day he spent with James was quite, almost peaceful, despite the all-too-frequent flashbacks of his time at Cayo Esqueleto, that he was liable to get. It made relaxing difficult, but he knew James was trying to help things so he could, keeping their conversations quiet, and their activities – what there was, because they didn't do much that first day; despite the lovely weather, they spent most of it just lounging on the terrace of the house, overlooking the stunning grounds, playing card games, and chatting aimlessly – gentle and relaxing. Alex had to admit that James' tactics were working; he was more relaxed now than he had been for the past couple of months. 

James just seemed to have that effect on him.

Alex had the same room as before, which also helped; it didn't feel like home, certainly – he was too new to the house, and it was all too grand and impressive for that – but it was reassuringly familiar, in a grandiose sort of way.

Dinner the first night was quiet, and Dieter was noticeably absent; one of the servants Alex was still getting used to, but assumed was the butler or someone like that, informed James that "Mr. Sprintz was detained in Vienna and would return soon".

James was remarkably unaffected by that; when Alex brought it up, he shrugged and said, calmly,

"He doesn't do this often now. He's at home more, and – he's really trying, you know? He doesn't let work take over everything. So, if he sometimes misses dinner, it doesn't matter… stuff like that happens, and he doesn't do it often. Point Blanc changed both of us."

"Yeah it really did." Alex agreed, thoughtfully. "Who would have thought that you could become so – good?"

James mock-leered. "I could be bad if you wanted me to be, baby."

Alex laughed. "You're going to need to work on that one, if you want it to actually, you know, work."

James grinned back, delighted to see his friend so relaxed.

Half-way through, though, James said, suddenly, "Hey, d'you remember Nicholas Marc? Was at Point Blanc with us?"

Alex frowned. "Yeah. French, right? His father owns an airline, or something like that…?"

James shrugged. "I don't know what his father does, but yeah, he's French. Lives in Paris. It's just – he wrote to me a couple of days ago – while you were still being shot at, probably," he grimaced, "And… he wants to 'talk about it'."

Alex nodded slowly. "Right. Well – do _you_ want to talk about it?"

"I have." James pointed out, shrugging again. "I do, in fact – with you. But… he doesn't have you to talk to, poor bastard," James didn't look a bit sorry for the other boy; in fact, if anything, he looked rather smug, "So I figured I should try and help you. I was thinking – since he lives in Paris, like I said – that we could maybe meet up there? Cos, then you'll be there, and you're better at this than me."

Alex paused, frowning lightly. "I, er…I don't think that's such a good idea, James. I mean, you meeting up with him is fine, but – I'm supposed to be a secret, you know? And you two are kind of… high-profile."

James scowled a little, but Alex knew it wasn't aimed at him. "Look, Alex… it can't hurt you to meet up with him. It's going to be at his house, probably, or our hotel, so no one need see you, and – it'll be fine. I promise. I mean… what harm can it do, right?"

If Alex had been older and more acquainted with the job he was in, the answer to that would have been obvious, but he was fourteen, and though he was on a fair way to being a practiced spy, he was far from being a hardened veteran.

So he nodded, slowly, and James' face relaxed into a smile. "It's gonna be fine, Al, I promise, OK?"

* * *

Dieter arrived the next day, giving his son a warm, affectionate greeting, predominantly in German, hugging him too him, and smiling down at the boy, before turning to Alex with a warm smile, which faltered a little as he took in Alex's bruised face. 

"It is good to see you again, Alex." He said, sincerely, putting his hands on Alex's shoulders. "But – are you alright? What has happened to you?"

Alex shrugged, rather uncomfortably. "Nothing much. Nothing important, at any rate."

Dieter gave him a sharp look. "Well… you have seen a doctor, at least, then?" he asked, voice warm with concern.

Alex looked away. "Not exactly, no." he admitted, and Dieter frowned, while James stared.

"You didn't tell me that!" he cried, apparently horrified. "I was certain you'd been checked over!"

"It's OK, James, I'm fine." He said, quickly, and Dieter was the one who answered, calmly,

"I am afraid you only _think_ you are fine, Alex. I do not mean to offend you, but it would be wise to be checked over, no? I should like you to see a doctor, at least to put my mind at rest. I should not like you to collapse on me!" his words were softened by a friendly smile.

Slowly, Alex nodded – there was little else he could have done, without looking rude.

Dieter's smile widened. "Thank you – I shall arrange a doctor for tomorrow. He will be very discrete, I assure you."

"Thank you." Alex said, awkwardly. "It's, um… It's very kind of you…"

"It is nothing." Dieter assured him, and the conversation moved on.

* * *

The atmosphere that night at dinner was much more calm and relaxed than it had been when Alex had visited last holidays. Dieter was calmer and more open, and James was far more natural with his father, which made for a far more relaxing meal. Dieter seemed to welcome Alex without question, something which Alex was unbelievably grateful for. That sort of calm acceptance was far from common for him. 

That night, after his and James' now almost-ritualistic film – Harry Potter 1, which they had spent the entire time mocking – Alex allowed himself the luxury of a long, hot bath. It was a habit he was slipping into, he noticed, of taking baths to relax and calm himself – probably 'caught' from living with jack, who swore by the healing properties of a tub of hot water. He found it really did help, though – by the time he climbed into bed, he was relaxed and sleepy, to the point of actually finding it difficult to keep his eyes open.

So the knock on his door was far from a welcome intrusion.

"Hallo?" he managed, voice heavy with sleepiness.

James appeared in his room, still fully dressed, a tense, worried look on his face. "Oh!" he looked taken aback to see Alex already in bed. "Sorry…"

"It's OK." Alex really couldn't help that his voice slurred a little. "What is it?"

James sat on the bed next to him, hand hovering over his leg, but not touching him. "I was just thinking about what you said – about not having seen a doctor. I never really asked you _properly _if you were OK, and I'm really sorry. I should have checked, made sure, all that…"

"'M fine." Alex reassured him, sleepily.

"But – really? You might not be; you could have got a serious injury, and I could have really damaged you, because I didn't bother to check properly… You might have - broken ribs, or something, and I wouldn't know. _You_ wouldn't know…"

"I'd know." Alex assured him, rather indistinctly, through a yawn. "'Ve had 'em before…"

He didn't see James' face darken as he said that. He did feel it, though, when James hand settled on his leg, warm and faintly protective. "I'm going to make sure you don't get hurt again." He promised, fiercely.

Alex was a little more than half asleep now, and he murmured, almost inaudibly, "You c'n't promise tha', James…"

"I just did." He said, quietly, leaning forward, and pressing a gentle kiss to Alex's lips. "Sleep well, Alex." He said, softly. "Sorry for keeping you up…"

By the time Alex roused the energy to return the sentiment, James had already gone.

* * *

Hope you liked! 

Lol, ami xxx


	3. Chapter 3

Look! An update!

I'm busy and back at school at the momet, folks... so updates may be - read: will be - sporadic. But I'm planning one last Biiiig all-in-one update of everything I've written, as is my wont, and then it'll be as they come, OK? But, I have to say, I am just _overwhelmed_ by the reviews this story has received. Each one of them is wonderful - thought out, considering, (flattering (blush)), and _useful,_ which is so brilliant, because you all give me wonderful ideas, and concrit, and - guh. You are all wonderful and lovely people!

However, special mention this time round goes once again to **LostInColour**, because - wow. The number of reviews I got from you - I nearly died from the swollen head you gave me, sweetie! (grin). Death by arrogance. It has a ring, dontcha think? ... ANYway, thank you for your review of this one... and all the others! Also, **Ever1** - thank you for your review; kind, tactful concrit, and my god, that's such a rare thing to find. I don't mean to say that if a fic is terrible you should pander to the authors ego, or anything, and I'm very, very relieved that you liked it, and... I'm working myself into a hole here, so I'mna shut up. (blush) I've tried to work on the dialogue problem, so I hope it's better this time around!

That isn't to say I don't value all the reviews, I very much do; _all_ of your reviews were wonderful.

(Oh, and **Fishy-Bubbles**? (grin) I'm thrilled and flattered that you like this story when you're not a slash fan - but don't worry! Reading slash won't suddenly turn you into a lesbian... or it shouldn't do...? I mean, I've been reading it for a lo-o-ong time now - well, kinda, I haven't been reading fanfiction _that_ long, but long enough - and I'm 100 percent straight. I can't say I'm "normal", but I am straight. And the 'normal' issues have nothing to do with my slash fanfiction reading. :D Once again, I'm delighted that you like this when you're not a slash fan!)

Dedicated, as always, to **Von**who offers me affection, support, and a slightly insane ear for all my much-more-than-insane ideas. Good insane friends are _so _hard to come by. :D

Hope you like this one, and sorry for the ultimate author's not up there...

DISCLAIMER: Aww, shucks. You mean it _isn't_ mine?

* * *

The next couple of days passed scarily quickly. Alex got a text from Sabina, telling him that they'd arrived in the South of France, and that the weather was fantastic; James had pulled a face, and muttered half-heartedly about clingy girls who just couldn't take a hint; and James slowly but surely got over his slightly over-protective phase once Alex saw a doctor who declared him to be 'slightly battered' – this with a disapproving look – 'but otherwise fine'.

James' house in Austria had a swimming pool, which was where he and Alex seemed to spend most of their time, over the next three or four days. The weather was fantastic – which surprised Alex, who had always imagined, for some reason, that Austria would be permanently snowy – and Dieter even joined them a couple of times, though he seemed to spend most of his time swimming lengths; 'more fitness than fun', as James ironically put it one night at dinner.

They settled down easily into the routine they had half-established the last time Alex had visited – spend the day doing nothing in particular, have dinner with Dieter, and then watching a film, or something, until bed. And if the films sometimes ended up with James rather awkwardly putting an arm round Alex's shoulders, self-conscious and a little nervous, neither of them mentioned it.

Their relationship was a slightly strange one; neither of them seemed to know quite what to do with the more-than-friends aspect of it; there was always a slight frisson of what Alex called nerves, and James insisted on calling 'sexual tension'. Alex retorted that James wouldn't know sexual tension if it bit him, and James loftily replied that Alex was 'too young' to understand.

Alex had pushed him for that, and James had landed in the swimming pool with a satisfying yelp of surprise.

* * *

About four days after Alex had arrived, just two days before they were due to go to Paris, he and James had just finished watching a film again; James arm was around his shoulders, and Alex, extremely awkward, and looking anywhere but James, had shifted just a little closer. Sometimes, Alex was convinced that kissing James would have been much easier than trying to be 'romantic'. Neither of them were cut out for it, and they hadn't known each other long enough yet. 

On that thought, Alex broke the silence which had fallen over them. "How long have you known Lucy?"

"Lucy?!" James glanced at him, surprised, but didn't take his arm from Alex's shoulders. "What brought that up?"

Alex shrugged. "I was just thinking about her."

"And yet I'm the one with my arm round your shoulders. I feel so used."

"Shut up." Alex returned, comfortably. "I was just wondering about here. I mean, I told you all about Sabina, and you only mentioned this 'Lucy' a couple of days ago, but you've known her for ages. So I'd just like to know something about her, you know? Like, how long you've known her."

It was James' turn to shrug. "I'm not sure – forever. I think we went to the same nursery school, or something. And we went to the same school after that, until I went, um… bad."

"And she stuck around you? Even when you were being – bad?"

"Well, she was a bit distant when I was – not good." James said, awkwardly. "But it's better now, you know? I don't see much of her, since she's at boarding school in England, but we still get on."

"Oh." There was another brief pause. "And you didn't want to see her this holiday?"

"Well, yeah, but you were coming, and she's in Switzerland with her cousins, then she's going to Egypt, to visit her mother. She works there." He added by way of explanation.

"Right. So I was a second choice?"

"Alex." James said, refusing to rise to it. "Of course not, stop trying to be difficult."

Alex just grinned, but it turned a little wistful. "It must be nice to have someone who's known you for so long."

"Yeah – until they bring out the stories about the time when you tried to eat sand, or whatever." James agreed, with a slightly rueful grin. "Don't you have any old friends?"

"Not really." Alex shrugged. "We – my uncle and me – we moved around a lot when I was little, and only settled back in London for good when I was about nine – probably something to do with his job, I guess. And then I changed schools twice, so… I didn't really have a chance to make friends. Not ones that I could keep, anyway. You don't really bother about keeping in touch when you're nine."

"But you do _have_ friends, right?"

Alex gave him a look. "I'm not some kind of loser." He retorted. "I don't just sit at home all day and wait for you to ring me."

"Yeah, I know!" James back-tracked quickly. "But, I meant, what with MI6, and all."

Alex shrugged. "Well… yeah, I guess. Most of them think I'm some kind of mad, drug-crazed fiend, though, so it's not always easy."

"I bet." James agreed. They sat in silence for a few moments, Alex almost-unconsciously shifting a little closer to him, until they were almost, but not quite, flush together. Finally, James said, casually, "So, are you ready for Paris?"

"Pretty much." Alex nodded, glancing up at him. "You?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "I love Paris – have you been before?"

"I lived there for a while." Alex told him, with an answering grin. "When I was seven – went to school there and everything." His grin slipped a little. "I, er… It was to get me speaking the language fluently, I think, and to make sure that I could integrate into the culture if I ever needed to, probably, but… I liked the city." He frowned, lightly. "But I don't think we ever really did the tourist sights, or anything; my uncle never had the time, and, you don't really seem to, when you live somewhere. I mean, we lived there for nearly a year, as far as I remember, and if I saw the Eiffel Tower, it was by accident, you know?"

James shook his head. "Never really thought about it." He shrugged. "But we'll have a week there, we can go anywhere you want."

Alex offered him an almost shy smile. "Yeah – thanks."

James grinned back. "Don't mention it."

They sat in a comfortable, slightly sleepy silence for maybe five minutes more, before Alex stretched a little, sitting forward away from James' arm, and saying, a little reluctantly,

"I should really go to bed…"

James nodded, standing and stretching. Alex turned to go when James called, casually, after him, "Hey, Alex?"

"Yeah?"

James closed the distance between them, and grabbed Alex's hand, pulling him closer, and wrapping an arm round his waist; but it was Alex who actually kissed him. James just deepened it, smiling to himself as he felt Alex's arms wrap round his waist, letting his own hand card through Alex's hair, placing his other low on the other boy's back.

When he finally pulled back, he took one look at Alex – hair messy, pupils blown wide, lips red and puffy – and grinned.

"OK, that was my best kiss _ever_."

Alex grinned back.

* * *

They took Dieter's plane into Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, and were met by another sleek black car, which drove them to the Georges V, another amazingly impressive hotel in the heart of the city. Dieter had booked two suites – one for himself, which included a board-room, and the other for James and Alex. 

"I hope you will have a good time here." He said, offering the two of them a smile. "And I have organised that we will go to some museums together, OK? I know you will love the Musee Carnavalet, Alex – I am sure you have better taste then my son, who hates museums." He smiled at James, who rolled his eyes, but smiled back. "And, if it is alright with you, we will meet for dinner here at eight every night; I will be busy, but I should like to spend time with you both."

James gave his father a quick, rather awkward hug, and Alex had looked away, trying – not very successfully – to act as though he didn't feel like an intruder. "Thanks, Dad." He muttered, as he pulled away, and Dieter gave him a wide, proud smile.

"_Don't worry about it_." He said, in German, patting his son on the shoulder. "_I am pleased that you are happy_."

The suite awed Alex, just as the one in Vienna had, but he was given very little time to think about it, as he was pulled out of bed early the next morning by James, who had laid out an entire programme of things for them to do, ranging from visiting the Eiffel Tower – "we'll have to see if we can get Dad to let us go after dark, it looks _amazing_ at night!" – to walking along the Seine – "apparently, it's tradition, or something…"

Alex allowed himself to be dragged out of bed, and pushed into a taxi, which took them to the square outside the Louvre.

James looked at him. "Have you been before…?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but it was ages ago, I only remember the Mona Lisa, and the Venus de Milo. You?"

James nodded, glumly. "Yeah. Dad sent me to school here a couple of years ago, one of those really strict school, to get you 'into line'. We had an art trip here – I only went on it cos it got me out of that bloody school. We got dragged round all the really old, religious art, with some woman talking about how it was 'revolutionary' that they painted Mary's halo white, or something."

Alex hesitated momentarily, before saying, slowly, "Well – Ian used to say that if you were ever bored in an art gallery – though he kind of implied that if you were, you were an uncultured moron with no taste," James pulled a face at him, and Alex grinned "If you were bored, you could go round and try to find the ugliest baby Jesus in all of the religious paintings. Some of them are _hideous_."

A slow smile spread across James' face. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

They spent the rest of the day wandering round the small area of Paris around the Louvre, and had lunch in a small Chinese restaurant (1), where James spent nearly half an hour mocking Alex's apparently sincere interest in art. 

They got back to the hotel at seven thirty, and James disappeared into his room, giving Alex the blanket suggestion of 'dress smart'.

Twenty minutes later, James reappeared, in black trousers and a white shirt, which was apparently the nearest he got to 'smart', and gave Alex a slightly confused look.

"You haven't changed."

Alex shrugged helplessly. "You said 'dress smart' – I didn't know what you meant; I don't really have any 'smart' things."

"Black trousers generally work? With a white shirt, maybe?"

"James, we'd match." Alex raised an eyebrow at him. "And I do have enough fashion sense to realise that 'Men In Black' is not a good look. Plus, I don't have anything like that with me…"

James paused. "Oh. Yeah." He bit his lip for a second, then beckoned Alex back into his room, rifling through the bag he hadn't yet bothered to unpack, throwing a blue shirt, a jacket, and a pair of black trousers at Alex. "There. We're pretty much the same size, they should work, right?"

Alex looked from the clothes he'd caught, to James, and back to the clothes. Then he smiled a little, faintly despairing, shook his head, and headed back to his room to change.

"Don't feel like you have to leave the room because of me!" James called after him, following him into the living area of the suite. "You know I'd love to watch you strip off!"

Alex didn't dignify that with a response.

* * *

The meal that night was rather more restrained than it was when they were 'at home', as it were, and the conversation took place predominantly in German, most likely, Alex suspected, due to Dieter's desire to keep what they were saying private, rather than anything else. Dieter seemed somewhat preoccupied, but James didn't seem to mind, and Alex supposed it was because this was a business trip for him, rather than a simple tourist visit. Alex hoped – sincerely – that there was nothing wrong, but made sure to keep his end of the conversation light and inconspicuous. 

It was almost a relief to be able to go back to their suite – after James had acquired Dieter's permission to visit the Eiffel Tower one night "provided they take some protection with them". Alex had ended up with an image that he really didn't need from that particular instruction, and had struggled both to keep from blushing, and to keep the smile off his face.

In their room, however, there was less need to worry about keeping up a polite, innocuous façade, and he and James sat and talked for nearly two hours, though Alex wasn't entirely sure, the next morning, what they had talked about; he wasn't even sure that there had been a particular subject, just that they had managed to pass a couple of hours talking. He did remember, however, that James had kissed him goodnight, rather embarrassedly, and that he, Alex, had enjoyed it hugely. He just wished that he had had the courage to kiss James.

* * *

The next day, however, was when everything started to fall apart. In the morning, he and James had visited Place de Pigalle, and had spent an amusing – if juvenile – hour or so pointing out all the sex shops they could find around there, before heading up to the Sacré Coeur, where James – who, Alex was surprised to find, had been raised a devout Catholic – lit a few candles at various shrines. Under his breath, he explained to Alex the various reasons that each saint had been canonized, and what they were the saint of; and then he dragged Alex into the all-too-crowded little gift shop, and bought him a guide to Catholicism and a couple of prayer cards, telling him, cheerfully, that he needed 'all the help he could get'. 

After that, they headed down to the area around Angers tube station, and found a small, nearly empty restaurant to have lunch in. James chatted, idly, about visiting Pere Lachaise that afternoon, to see the grave of Oscar Wilde, and Alex paid attention with half an ear, more interested in trying to decipher his menu, which was old, a little dog-eared, and had had one too many sauces spilt on it to be easily readable.

When his phone rang, he seriously considered ignoring it, but, when it rang insistently for nearly a minute, he picked up, giving James an apologetic look, and heading for the loo, for a degree of privacy.

"Hallo?"

"Alex?" Sabina was on the other end of the line, and she sounded distraught. "is that you?"

"Yeah?" he frowned. "Sab, are you OK?"

"N-no…" her voice was definitely trembling, and Alex bit his lip.

"What's happened?"

"There was a gas leak in the house my parents and I were renting…" she blurted out, her voice cracking over a sob, "And Dad's in hospital, and I can't understand what the police are saying…"

Alex dithered for a couple of moments, unsure as to what he could say in response to that. Finally, he settled on a rather awkward, "Oh my god. Are – are _you_ OK? I mean, physically?"

She sniffed, loudly, her breathing coming in unsteady gasps. "Y-yeah, I wasn't – wasn't even in the h-h-house… But D-dad looks awful, and the doctors speak so fast, and Mum's too – too b-busy to ex-explain…"

Alex frowned, the practical, MI6-trained side of him coming in to play. "But – why… this gas leak, have there been any problems like this before, in that house?"

Sabina's voice sounded unsure, when she next answered. "Um… not that I know of, but… maybe? Why?"

Alex shrugged, knowing that she could see it, but hoping that the general attitude of it would come through in his voice. "No reason – just curious." He paused, thinking how best to go on. He hated the suspicious side of him which couldn't seem to help but raised questions in his mind about the whole affair, but it was suddenly difficult to believe that someone so close to him could have been involved in a simple gas explosion. MI6 had a lot to answer for his damaged psyche. "Did your dad lose a lot of work in the explosion?"

Another breathy little sob came over the line when he said 'explosion', and Alex winced a little. "I don't know, and really I don't care, Alex!" Sabina snapped back, tearfully. "He's in hospital!"

"Sorry." Alex said, quickly. "I didn't mean to… Sorry. I just – I read once that talking about normal things helps when someone's had a shock; you know…" he allowed himself an awkward little laugh. "Just to take their mind off… whatever it is. Sorry." He added, again, after a pause. "I guess I didn't start very well."

"N-no." she agreed, but her voice was less sharp now. "Sorry. I – I don't think that he lost much." She added, tentatively, after a brief pause of her own. "He said he'd sent it to the photographer he was working with, I think? Some guy in Paris." Sabina's father was a successful freelance journalist, which allowed him to travel with his family as much as he wanted, within reason.

"Oh? What was his article on?" Alex asked, feigning casual interest.

"That, er… that pop singer, David…um… Damian – Cray." She replied, her voice starting to sound less shaky. "You know, I think this is working, this talking about other things." She added, a little reluctantly.

"Always happy to help." Alex tried to inject a little humour into the conversation, but knew that it fell dismally flat. "How about – the photographer's name? Can you remember that?"

Sabina paused. "Marc something? Oh! Marc Antonio!" she paused, and when she continued, her voice was a little strained. "I remember, because Dad made some stupid joke about him being 'like the general'."

"Brilliant. Seriously, that's brilliant; just - keep talking about this, OK?" He hardly knew what he was saying, busy thinking it all through - making a mental note to find out about this photographer - turning all of the information over in his mind. "What was this article on Cray about? He's a philanthropist, right? What was your dad saying?"

"I think he was trying to be controversial again." She laughed a little, but it didn't quite work, sounding tinny and forced. "But – god, Alex, what if he's really badly hurt?" her voice hitched up a few notches, and Alex hastened to reassure her,

"I'm sure he's going to be fine, Sab. Seriously, I sure of it. Explosions always look worse, because they're so noisy, right? And he wouldn't have been right at the centre of it…"

"According to the police – or what Mum translated for me," Sabina replied, tearfully, "He _would_ have been at the centre; the explosion was in his study. It's just, he was in the kitchen when it went off, so… I guess, maybe, that helped?"

_Curiouser and curiouser_.Alex thought, grimly, to himself, but just said, "Well, there you are. He's going to be fine."

"You really think?"

"Definitely." He nodded, firmly.

"I should let you go…" she said, after another awkward pause. "My mum will probably need me soon, and you've got things you need to be doing…"

"Don't worry about it." Alex said, a little perfunctorily, thinking wryly, _Oh, you have no idea_.

Sitting back down opposite James, he said, distractedly, "Sorry about that – Sabina rang. Her, um… her dad was just caught in a gas explosion, at the house they were renting."

James stared at him, shocked. "Shit – seriously? Fuck, that's – Jesus, that's _awful_."

"Yeah." Alex agreed, morosely, staring blankly down at the sauce-spattered menu without taking in any of it. "Yeah it is." He paused for a few minutes, before putting the menu back on the table, shaking his head, and saying, rather distractedly, "Look, James, I really… I don't think…" he broke off, before saying, slowly, "I'm really sorry, I don't think I can just sit here…"

"Sure." He nodded, sympathetically. "D'you want to go back to the hotel?"

Alex nodded, slowly. "If you don't mind, yeah."

"No, of course, I understand." James agreed, eyes warm with sympathy. "God, I'm so sorry about this, Alex; do they know if her dad's going to be alright? Is there anything that we can do for her?"

Alex nodded. "No, he's going to be fine. He wasn't in the same room as the actual explosion, so I think he'll probably be OK, you know?"

"Yeah, of course." James stood, putting his chair neatly back under the table, and giving the irritated manager an apologetic smile. "C'mon, let's go back. Maybe it'd be a good idea for you to sleep, or something? Get over the shock?"

Alex nodded, grateful for the suggestion. "Yeah, that sounds good."

* * *

Back at the hotel, Alex made another distracted apology to James, before heading into his own room, and pulling out the telephone directory from the desk in his room, leafing through it until he found the name of the Parisian photography Sabina had given him, noting down the address on a scrap of paper. 

With that task done, he grabbed his phone and his wallet, and waited a further few minutes, until he was sure that James would have settled into his own room – then he headed out of their suite, and made for a lift. He had to find out what was going on here.

* * *

There ya go.

Hope you enjoyed!!

-ami xxx


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